


Folie à Deux

by major_arcana



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ravenscar Asylum, drabble prompt, imagineconstantine, references to newcastle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/major_arcana/pseuds/major_arcana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an imagine from imagineconstantine.tumblr.com</p><p>"Imagine meeting John in the asylum and finding out you’re not insane; he sees them too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folie à Deux

"Oi! I checked myself in here, you twat! I don't need a bloody escort wherever I go!" John struggled against the two attendants towering in white at each side. Their iron grip remained firm, despite his incessant grumblings.

"Now, John, we don't want to have to sedate you again..."

"Sedate me? Save it for her." He jerked his head toward the shrill scream growing from down the hall. A woman's voice, shrieking and pleading ' _no no please no, just keep him away, anyone please, don't let him near me!'._ He twisted to see the hysterical woman, but the nurses pulled him roughly into his room. A loud crash came from the other end of the wing, and they quickly closed him in; forgetting, as John noted, to lock the door. He peeked out cautiously, watching four men in white descend upon the poor girl, still screaming bloody murder, until the cry died in her throat when a nurse brandished a syringe, plunging it into her upper arm. Her body fell limp, and John watched as they carried her like a grotesque oversized ragdoll, seemingly without care towards her dignity. _We're all a bunch of nutters to them, ain't we though?_ He thought.

He closed the door softly as they approached, and by the sound of it, disposed of her in the room next to his. _God I hope she's not a screamer when she sleeps_.

As he lay awake, watching the hours pass on the clock framed by the window in his door, John listened. The tick, tick, tick of the clock. The soft scuffle of the night attendant's shoes as he made the rounds, and the jingle of the keys on his side. It was nearly two thirty in the morning when he first started to hear it. He thought it was his mind drifting off in the beginning, but soon enough he knew it was coming from his neighbour, who was now awake. Awake, and mumbling incessantly. And then, soft scratches on the wall. Like a dull pen on plaster. They came quickly, short and sharp; then in broad long motions. John found it maddening, his ear against the wall as he moved along with her motions. "What the bloody hell are you doing over there?" He whispered to himself.

And with that. It stopped. He held his breath, straining to hear something, anything from the other side. After a few seconds, which felt like minutes, a voice whispered back. "Keeping it away, keeping it away. Protection."

"From who?"

"His eyes are black. He's hungry."

John stopped. _No. Remember why you're here. Remember Newcastle. Just go back to bed, you git._

He waited for the attendant to round the corner. I'll have about thirty minutes or so. Slowly and quietly pushing his door open, he walked over to her door. _Shit. Its locked, you stupid wanker, now what._

A small, slender metal nail file slid from under the door. Huh. He picked it up. _Why is it wet?_ Wiping his hands on his pants, his breath hitched. _Why is it covered in blood? What are you getting yourself into?_

He shook it off. In for a penny, after all. Jimmying the lock, he quietly slipped inside.

A small woman sat in the corner of her bed, sheets wrapped around her. "Are you him?"

"Am I...?" His words died off as he came to see the intricate inscriptions drawn all over the walls. Some carved in crudely, some deftly finger painted on, clearly, as he came to see, with blood. His eyes flicked over to her, noticing the way she carefully cradled one arm, and the dark stain growing from the sheet around it.

"Are you him?" She asked again, voice low and hushed.

"No. I'm not...I'm a patient. Like you. You know..." He characterized crazy, motioning around his head and giving a quick, sharp whistle.  "I'm not, I'm not a doctor."

"Have you seen him?"

"Doll, I've only seen a handful of nurses and that ruddy bloke Huntoon."

"He's bad. He's a bad...He's not us. Used to be. Not now."

"Now, I'm going to hold onto this, luv." He tucked the nail file into his sock. "But what's all this for, hmm?" He gestured towards the various sigils on the facing wall.

"Protection. Tha-that one," She pointed, hand shaking, to an odd looking Egyptian symbol near the door. "Its the eye of Hor-"

"Yes, yes, the eye of Horus, I know. Why?"

She sighed in frustration.

"Him. Keep him out. He comes for me. Tries to come in. Tries to get me. Now. Now he can't."

"How often?"

"Every night."

John stood. "Has he been here yet?"

She shook her head silently, a finger on her lips. "But he's coming."


End file.
